


Poison the Azaleas

by BugleLoveSong



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Multi, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-09 03:10:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18908317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BugleLoveSong/pseuds/BugleLoveSong
Summary: Arthur meet Dutch when he is 14 and his life falls into place when the horrific mark on his neck matches the one on the inside of Dutch’s elbow. But then he witnesses another pair meeting their soulmates and Arthur begins to wonder if he is broken after not experiencing that same earth-shattering connection to Dutch. Though he continues to be loyal, trying to navigate growing friendships and relationships while also keeping a track of Dutch’s seemingly deteriorating mental state. His only hope is to bring his family out the other end of this mess alive.





	Poison the Azaleas

 

**Poison the Azaleas**

 

 

Arthur had always been unlucky, long before he even knew what luck was. His parents were unbonded but had managed to fall in love anyway – and from that love came Arthur. His father doted on him and his mother cherished him, carting him with her wherever she would go taking such pride in her son.

Until one day she was walking through the marketplace and caught the eye of a young man who turned out to be her soulmate. It started off friendly enough, but jealousy quickly seeded itself deep in his father’s heart. While no one could prove anything, and there were no bodies found, rumours spread and judgmental eyes followed them.

He turned to the bottle to forget, where he could blur the world enough to not see the betrayal and hate of his wife on the face of his son. Where his son’s damn soul mark would stop haunting him. Where Beatrice’s flowers had been so full of colour and life, hidden away on her hip - her son’s flowers were wilted mockeries that crept up the side of his neck for the whole world to see.

 

And Arthur hated them from the moment he learned what they were. Over the years those wilted flowers only became more ugly. They gained burn marks where Lyle would put out his cigarettes against Arthur’s skin. Where the children in the streets attacked him for carrying the symbol of a long tortured life where even death would not bring relief. And even more marks where Arthur would attack it himself as if somehow he could scrub or scratch or cut his own skin enough that they would somehow disappear.

His father died on the end of a rope with Arthur looking on, though it was for stealing liquor, not taking the lives of his mother and her love. The punishment didn’t seem enough and the fire of hate continued to burn in Arthur’s chest long after his father was cold and buried.

He carried that hate though those few long years he was alone, working the worst of jobs to gain enough money to fill his empty, aching belly. And when that wasn’t enough he would find a quiet little farm on the outskirts of town and eat his fill from their vegetable garden or orchard.  


It was during one such venture that two boys confronted him, the farmer's son and a ranch hand who had caught him ripping up carrots. They dragged him down to the path by the house and set about kicking him black and blue for his trouble… And that was when he met Dutch.

His seemingly magical appearance punctuated by the sound of a gunshot fired into the air that sent the older boys scuttling toward the house in fear. The first thing Arthur saw, cracking his eye open, was a pair of black boots so clean that Arthur was positive that in better light he’d be able to see his face reflected back. The hand that reached down to pull him to his feet was adorned with rings.

At first Arthur thought that it must have been because the touch was the first kind one he’d felt in years that a shiver ran the length of his spine and a heat settled low in his stomach. But a second shiver accompanied the gentle touch of a handkerchief that Dutch used to clean the mud from Arthur’s neck. Calloused fingertips against his chin tipped his head for Dutch to gain a better look at his mark.

“Oh child. The world has not been kind to you. You have never realised how beautiful you are, have you? Do not worry, we are together now and I will take care of you,” Dutch promised with such certainty that Arthur couldn’t help but believe him. But whatever small doubt he felt evaporated when Dutch shoved up the sleeve of his coat and shirt to reveal the three wilted flowers almost tucked into the crook of his elbow.

And the world slips into place. For the first time in his life, Arthur feels like he belongs.  
  


“Hosea, Hosea! I have found him. My soulmate!” Dutch calls out as Hosea walks over to meet them, taking the reins Dutch tosses to him and then seems to freeze solid at the words. His eyes track over to where Dutch is helping Arthur down off the horses rump.

“Are you sure, Dutch,” Hosea questions once he steps into Arthur’s space, tipping his head in the same manor Dutch had, only the touch was rough and missing all affection. They remain still and from where he is he can see the proud smile on Dutch’s face. “Then congratulations. I hope you find the greatest happiness in one another,” he states but his tone sounds like he means anything but the words he speaks.

“Don’t worry,” Dutch’s arm is slung over his shoulders reassuringly, as Arthur watched Hosea’s hasty retreat toward the horses with Dutch’s stallion in tow. “Hosea lost his soulmate a few years ago and he has never recovered. Perhaps try not to raise the subject with him, and we will see if we can find some way to hide that mark.”

While he sits eating the bowl of stew Dutch had pressed into his hands, he watches Hosea bandage his knuckles that hadn’t been busted during their interaction moments before.

The years tick by with Arthur finding himself devoted to his strange little family. The mysterious Hosea who comforts and teaches him some moments and then seems to become jealous and hostile in others. Susan and Pearson who are a bonded pair - Pearson having abandoned his navy post to be with her. Uncle, the old drunkard who seemed to appear one day and then just never left.

And Dutch, who Arthur spent his every waking minute trying to please. He grows into the type of beast that Dutch had wanted at his side. Too loyal to say no or ask questions, and ever so desperate to gain the soft praises that Dutch ever so sparingly hands out.

 

One of the first time they allow Arthur to drink he finds himself reaching for Dutch’s sleeve, attempting to gain a look at the mark they share but he gets backhanded across the face and a boot to the chest for his trouble. “Touch me again without permission, Arthur, and the consequences will be severe,” Dutch snarls and then disappears into his tent.

“Where is your mark,” Arthur can’t help but ask of Hosea while the man lays a damp cloth over the forming bruise on Arthur’s cheek.

“I don’t have one,” he answers abruptly, tossing the second damp rag into Arthur’s lap so he can clean the blood off his lower face.

“But Dutch said…”

“Yes, Bessie,” there is a heavy pause as Hosea takes a decent pull from his whisky bottle. “I had one, I burned it off.” It seemed like Hosea wanted that to be the end of the discussion, the grief written plainly across his face.

“What was it?” Arthur asked quietly.

“A horse,” his hand shifted to rest against his stomach - clearly not where his own mark had been. Arthur had seen him without a shirt, perhaps where hers had sat. “A black horse. Excuse me,” the whisky bottle was pressed into Arthur’s hand as Hosea stumbled to his feet and away.

A few moments later Arthur could hear Hosea emptying his stomach in the trees past the edges of their campsite and he decided not to press the man when he seemed to avoid Arthur for the entire week after.  
  
  


But this way of life was hard, and grew ever more tedious. Dutch’s plans became more elaborate and it took more energy than Arthur had to keep up with him. He grew bone tired to the point where even lifting his hand to shoo away a fly felt like an impossible task at times.

His shoulders slumped beneath a weight he could never understand, only straightening when he was scolded by Dutch to look more threatening for whichever target Dutch was after. The bruising beneath his eyes became permanent, unshifting no matter how much sleep he got.

And then along came the boy. Arthur was jealous, watching a shine return to Dutch’s eyes and he gained a new bounce to his step. His arm would sling around John’s shoulders so easily, in the same way he used to for Arthur. He is not sure when they had lost that intimacy but it had been gone a fair while.

“So he is your soulmate, huh?” John questioned from his bedroll on the floor of Arthur’s tent.

“Whats it matter to you?” Arthur demanded, sighing when he heard the shuffling of linen that signaled John sitting up and leaning against the edge of his cot. He rolled from his back onto his side to avoid the kid’s inquisitive dark gaze.

“You just don’t act like soulmates, is all.”

“Yeah, then how do soulmates act?” Arthur demanded, anger quickly tightening his chest.

“Well, usually they kiss and stuff. Isn’t he supposed to love you above all others or something like that?” Arthur intended to turn around and shove John back onto the floor. But the motion turned into a fist meeting John’s nose when the kid reached up to tug aside Arthur’s bandanna, exposing those wilted flowers.

 

“Arthur! How dare you. He is just a boy,” Dutch snarled while Hosea attempted to straighten John’s broken nose. “Leave, I don’t want to see you for a month. Hopefully that will give us both enough time to forgive you.”

The month passed and Arthur was welcomed back, John seemed to have entirely forgotten the incident and set about making Arthur a friend. And try as he might to resist, the boy managed to crawl in under his skin.

They found common ground in their soul markings. The twisted, broken skull that took up almost the entirety of the back of John’s left hand was just as devastating as Arthur’s flowers. So, they became the outlaws that society forced them to be, that Dutch moulded them into only Arthur took it upon himself to keep John’s mark pure. Making sure he only saw it as a link to his other half and not something to hate so it wouldn’t end up looking like Arthur’s mess.

And the world became a touch more bearable with someone to share the heavy burden of an unwanted life. To have a brother to confide in. While he could never understand Arthur’s relationship with Dutch he was there to listen to Arthur’s doubts and complaints while also taking some of Dutch’s work off Arthur’s shoulders.  


 

“My parent were unbonded,” Arthur told John, offering the bottle of moonshine he’d taken a swig from. Uncle had dragged Abigail into camp just a few months prior and Arthur could see John was taken with her the moment he stumbled over his hello. With her sickness over the past few weeks John had finally received the news that she was carrying his child. Luckily Dutch had sent them out on a scouting mission giving them time to discuss it before John’s doubts and self loathing had him running for the hills. “Sometimes it works out. If ever one of us gets the chance at a little happiness in this life, well, it makes it seem a little more worthwhile”

“Is it even fair to bring a kid into this sort of life? Unbonded, unmarried and loveless partnership. Besides, you aren’t exactly the best role model for unbonded parents,” John smirked, earning himself a shove and then shoving Arthur right back.

“I just mean that even if it doesn’t work out between you and Abigail, the kid is going to have a pretty decent extended family… And you can fix one of those things.”

“You think I should marry her?” John questioned, setting aside the bottle so he can rub at the back of his hand, over the skull.

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt. You’ll be a great father John. You can do anything you put your mind to. Find a little happiness,” Arthur hummed and looped his arm around John’s shoulder when the younger lent into his side.

“I still don’t understand why you stick around. You will never find happiness here. I know he is your soulmate but…”

“That is exactly it, he is my soulmate. If I can’t find happiness here what makes you think I’ll find it anywhere else? I am made for him.”

“He doesn’t seem to share that sentiment.”

“Yeah, well. That is just the way the world works sometimes. Not everyone gets a happy ending, which is why you should grab hold of yours with everything you have.”

John pats his thigh, “yeah, alright Uncle Arthur,” he teases lightly then offered the bottle back.

 

Arthur is jealous, he knew he would be. But he does fall into the part of trusted Uncle. He comforts John whenever the kid comes to him with doubts, he watches over Abigail when Dutch sends John away as punishment. He massages her aching feet and back and delivers her meals when she is to exhausted to rise. And he comforts her when she shares John’s doubts.

She is beautiful the day he, Hosea and the pair of them head into the church to watch the rings exchanged. The stolen gold band looks strangely out of place on the same hand as the twisted skull and yet John smiles at it the entire ride home and for days afterward.

But the larger Abigail’s belly grows the more unhappy Dutch gets with all of them. Arthur makes it his mission to protect them. If it is the only thing good that ever comes from his bond with Dutch then it is well worth the pain and suffering.

And it is all worth it the moment that John presses the squalling bundle of pudge into his arms. “We named him Jack,” John offers proudly, leaning against Arthur’s side and offers the baby a finger to hold. Arthur falls in love just as quickly as the boy’s parents had.

He is the one who rides into town to get supplies for the small family, who jumps at every single chance to simply sit close and let the boy chew on his fingers or tug on his hair, the who sits up and rocks the boy in his arm when his parents haven’t slept in days.

But the enjoyment doesn’t last long before Dutch’s jealousy once again takes hold. He drags Arthur away every chance he can get. And Arthur finds himself in more dangerous situation then he ever has before. He finds himself having to trust Dutch when he stands in the middle of the road and has a stagecoach bearing down on him. When he ends up in the middle of an enemy camp with reinforcements arriving and surrounding him. When he finds himself in a home that Dutch was so sure was empty. Truthfully - Arthur has no idea how much it was Dutch and how much was his own sheer dumb luck that seems to be missing from other parts of his life.

And then Arthur stumbles across a young man. He was hitching his horse outside the saloon when the kid came wandering over. His bare feet were blistered and bloody, his body beneath his clothes seemed to be nothing more than bones and as he held out his hands to quietly ask “please,” his eyes seemed hopeless.

However far the poor kid had come he seemed to realise that it was all for nothing and he would starve in the backstreets of some rich American town. So of course Arthur reached into his bag, pulling out his cut for their last job and counted out a decent stack of notes. But as he went to place them in the kids hand something caught his eye.

He could see the fear in the kid as he swung him around by a tight grip on his arms to force him against his horse just so he could drag the rag of a shirt away from the boys chest enough to see a familiar twisted skull.

“Tu no eres mio,” the boy stated, looking just as terrified as Arthur was sure he used to look when people attacked him for his soul mark. But Arthur reassured him by brushing an ever so gentle touch over the mark. “Pero sabes quién es?” his filthy hand moves to rest over Arthur’s heart and when their eyes met, the kid looks so desperate, so hopeful that Arthur couldn’t turn him away.

So Arthur took a hold of the back of his collar and lead him into the saloon where an angry looking Dutch sat cradling a bottle of whisky.

“What are you doing? This lead is time sensitive,” Dutch snapped, eyes slowly moving from Arthur to the kid.

“Found Marston’s soulmate,” Arthur stated firmly, tugging aside the kids shirt.

Dutch seemed to actually brighten at this, finishing his drink and then climbing to his feet so he can loom over the boy. “Well now, that certainly makes things interesting. Get him cleaned up and we will take him back to camp.”

Finally, Arthur paused and let his doubts in. “Are you sure that is such a good idea. John and Abigail…”

“Are you really going to force them to live apart because of Abigail? That is rather cruel of you, Arthur. Take him, get him a bath and I’ll see if I can find some clothes around here to fit him.”

“Yeah, alright,” Arthur sighed, stepping back to let Dutch pass and then motioned for the other to follow. He paid for the bath and then headed down the hall to the bathroom.

“Javier,” the kid said as he stepped into the room and let Arthur shut the door behind him.

“What?” Arthur demanded glancing over.

“Javier Escuella,” he patted his own chest, over the skull and then made a hand movement to Arthur.

“Arthur Morgan,” he introduced, shrugging off his jacket and slinging it over the chair. “Come on now, undress. Don’t have all the time in the world,” and despite the language barrier Javier seemed to gain enough context and stripped himself down.

The shirt stuck to a few untreated cuts and wounds along his back and shoulders. His legs and feet were almost mangled. Arthur took Javier’s hand to help gently lower him into the tub and despite how many festering open wounds there were all over him he still managed a sound of pleasure over pain as he sunk into the hot water.

When he started scrubbing at his skin with the bar of soap Arthur headed for the seat in the corner only to be interrupted by a knock.

“Here. These should work. I’ll go and get the horses. Don’t take long,” Dutch stated forcing the pile of clothes and boots into Arthur’s arms then headed off back down the hall.

“Arthur?” Javier questioned, his name a little strange on his tongue but Arthur glanced up anyway to find Javier gently tapping his skull. “You?”

Arthur sank in on himself a little but then decided to be truthful. Not like his was worse then the skull so he gently pulled off his bandana and stepped closer when Javier motioned to him. “Him, he’s my soulmate,” Arthur said motioning to the door where Dutch had been only a minute before.

“No.” The word was so definitive that it rattled Arthur. “No hay vínculo. Unbonded,” Javier said calmly and Arthur shook his head.

“Dutch is mine,” he said, reaching up to touch the mark but quickly pulled his fingers away when they found the old burn marks, only to have them replaced with Javier’s fingers where he had stood up in the tub, using his free hand Arthur’s shoulder to steady himself. He tipped his head as if he were waiting for something, trailing a finger from the bottom of the stem to where those wilted petals were.

“Unbonded,” Javier said again and Arthur tore himself away, ignoring the uneasy way Javier swayed in spot and then carefully sunk back down into the water.

“I’ll be outside,” he stated, shutting the door a little harder than necessary as he moved to lean against the wall across from the door - rubbing a hand through his hair and trying to calm the way his heart threatened to beat out of his chest.

Arthur mulled over the words as he waited and then they stepped outside to find Dutch where he said he would be. He chatted to Javier where he sat on the rump of Arthur’s horse. It was clear that Javier didn’t speak much english but he offered enthusiastic replies whenever he could. And then the interaction in the bathroom was forgotten once they got to camp.

 

“John!” Dutch yelled as they rode in, obviously meaning to catch everyone's attention and make a spectacle out of their meeting. Javier had washed up well, he looked better in his new clothes and boots then Dutch could usually manage. He accepted Arthur’s hand down off the horse so as not to hurt his feet anymore. A soft tug on his bandanna had his entire attention on Javier, not enough to unsettle or reveal anything, but enough to make sure Arthur was watching.

And then John rounded the closest tent and suddenly the world felt like it might burst into flames - the air between John and Javier seemed to shimmer with heat, it was as if everything had slowed to just them. If this was what it was like from the outside…

They reached one another and while John reached for Javier slowly and hesitantly, Javier grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and dragged him down to crash their lips together. The intensity of the whole thing was so strong that Arthur was no longer sure that the ground beneath his feet was solid. But that was as much as Arthur could handle.

The effects seemed to fade as soon as he took his eyes off the pair. He realised he should probably comfort Abigail who was standing off to the side with her hand covering her mouth and her cheeks slick with tears but all he could manage to make his feet do was carry him across the camp to flop down at Hosea’s side.

He was far too old to be seeking comfort in the other man but Hosea allowed it anyway, looping his arm around Arthur’s shoulders and holding him close.

So many emotions filled Arthur’s chest - rage, pain, jealousy and on top of it all was the self-hatred that was never far away. Of course Dutch didn’t want him, why would he ever want Arthur when he couldn’t even be a proper soulmate to the man, when he couldn’t give him something like that.

He allowed himself a few minutes of grief. For what he was missing, for not being good enough, for being so truly broken that he couldn’t even form the soulbond right. Two tears which he scrubbed from his face before he forced himself to his feet. He marched to the horses and rode out to complete Dutch’s latest score alone. If he couldn’t give Dutch what he deserved then he could at least do this. It was worth it for the smile and praise he got when he brought the saddlebag full of gold home and handed it over.

  


Tensions in camp only grew over the next few months. More often than not Jack would sleep on Arthur’s chest while Abigail and John would fight. Though more and more steadily he began to have company, Javier drawn to his soulmates child. He would sit silently beside Arthur’s cot, watching the steady rise and fall of the boy’s stomach. Arthur could see how much he wanted to take the boy and care for him but neither of them were willing to risk Abigail’s wrath, so this was as far as they went.

It took Arthur a long time, too long, to realise what Dutch’s plan had been. But soon enough he finds that he and John have switched places with John becoming reckless and endangering himself at every turn while Arthur trying to make sure he gets home to his little family.  


“John, get down!” he growls, having to stand from his place behind a wagon to take out a man on the roof whos shot was lucky enough to graze John’s arm rather than striking his shoulder. “You are going to get yourself killed.”

“Would make everything easier,” John mumbled under his breath while Arthur tied a bandage into place.  


Which seemed to parallel Javier’s recklessness.

 

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded, making a grab for the back of Javier’s coat when he tossed aside his spent revolver and dove at the closest man with a knife.

“You’ll keep me safe,” Javier sighed later while Arthur scrubbed blood from Javier’s temple, trying to work out if any of the blood belonged to the man himself.

“Don’t sound so disappointed,” Arthur grumbled, dumping the rag into Javier’s lap.  


But this is what Dutch had wanted. Men who didn’t care about their own lives, only their loyalty to him. Though it backfired when the three of them managed to find peace when Jack was about two years old.

“He is yours, and because he is - I am yours. I would never try to take them from you,” Arthur could hear Javier say from inside John’s tent. “I would gladly give my life to keep them safe and ensure they return to you.”

“I think your parents are going to be okay,” he told Jack who was sitting on the cot beside him flipping though Arthur’s journal attempting the names of the animals he finds drawn there and then giggles happily when Arthur presses a kiss to his dark hair.

But despite the growing easiness between the three of them the work only got worse. Dutch moved from manipulating their anger and stress to manipulating the soulbond. Abigail cetinally spent more time patching wounds and nursing the two men that she ever had before as they threw themselves into more and more dangerous situations to protect the other.

And Arthur couldn’t offer any assistance. Their bond was too strong and even when Arthur would run through a hailstorm of bullet fire to reach Javier who had been knocked off his feet by an explosion and ended up with shrapnel wounds, John still ended up right there beside him simply because the bond wouldn’t let his soulmates life be left in the hands of someone even as close as Arthur.

And it wasn’t just them. The gang’s numbers had grown and Arthur could see but do nothing about the way Dutch treated his followers.

  


He wasn’t sure when it had started but Arthur had been venturing out on his own just to get away from Dutch. He didn’t mind helping others, or even just sitting down for a chat with some stranger he came across. Dutch didn’t approve of course but so long as Arthur was in camp when he was needed then the man really couldn’t complain to much.

He let the shire beneath him take the lead, wandering along some dirt road in the middle of the heartlands and with every step it was easier to breath. His eyes had drifted shut and he had sunk low in the saddle just enjoying the sun on his face. He had absolute faith in the horse beneath him, the ridiculous gelding that Hosea had acquired some place or another and demanded Arthur sell - only he couldn’t give the poor beast away to a life of hard labour.

And of course it was in this moment of trust that the horse shifted awkwardly beneath him, tossing his head, snorted and then reared slightly so that he could stamp both front hooves at the poor unsuspecting Appaloosa that had been grazing peacefully on the side of the road.

“Easy, you great brute. Just leave her be,” Arthur grumbles, spurring lightly and giving the reins a sharp tug to straighten him out and get them trotting along the road again. As soon as the mare was out of his vision Rictus forgot all about her causing Arthur to chuckle and lean to scratch his neck. He then relaxed back into the saddle.

But then he noticed hoof-beats behind them, approaching fast. “Wait, stop!” And that voice sent a shiver shooting down Arthur’s spine, hair on the back of his neck standing on end even as he dropped his hand to the grip of his revolver. He turned to glance back at the approaching horse but it went shooting past.

He slowed Rictus to a walk as the Appaloosa turned to block the road ahead. “Can I help you?” Arthur called, but then he caught the eye of the man in the saddle and Arthur’s entire world fell into place. The world simply ceased to exist outside of that man’s gaze. He urged Rictus on while he slipped back in the saddle to making room so that as soon as they drew up beside the smaller horse Arthur was able to take the man’s arms a drag him over into his lap.

“I truly hope you can,” was the response, breathed against Arthur’s lips as their bodies fitted together like they had always meant to be. Arthur couldn’t resist lifting a hand to cup the man’s cheek, just needing to feel skin. “Off… We should get off the path.”

How the man had thoughts in his head beyond ‘get closer’ and ‘never let him go’ was so beyond Arthur. But he manages to follow the instructions, tugging Rictus to the left and taking them up into the hills to be hidden among the trees. “I’m Arthur,” he managed to get out. Those deep brown eyes might as well contain galaxies for Arthur was entirely certain that he could spent the rest of his life studying them, attempting to find every tiny fleck within them.

Though apparently all it took was the man unconsciously licking his bottom lip and Arthur’s gaze was drawn downward. “Charles.” Rictus had come to a stop in a small clearing and dropped his head to graze. It dragged Arthur back to his surrounding and he found the self-control to climb down and then offered his hands to help Charles, though he dismounted gracefully for a man who had been sitting backward in the saddle.  


But that was it, that was as far as Arthur wanted to be from Charles ever again. They stepped closer, one of Charles’s hands found a place brushing through the short hairs on the back of Arthur’s neck while the other settled against Arthur’s lower back attempting to close any space that might remain between them. Arthur looped his arms over Charles’s shoulders cupping the back of his head.

They seemed to share the same sentiment, that they had the rest of their lives together and none of this needed to be rushed. Charles deserves his patience, his kindness and his love - something that Arthur hadn’t been sure he contained until this moment.

“Are you real?” Arthur had to ask, bringing one hand around to brush the pad of his thumb along Charles’s cheekbone, down along his jawline and then across his bottom lip. His mouth parted beneath the touch and Arthur could feel his breath.

“Come here,” Charles finally hummed and Arthur dropped his hand to clutch the sleeve of Charles’s shirt. It started with the very softest brush of lips, eyes slipping shut as it ever so slowly became something more. Nothing had ever felt so good or so right. And then all at once they couldn’t seem to get enough - licking into each others mouths, nipping at lips and restless hands began to wander.

He released Charles’s gunbelt and it fell around their feet with a clunk, and then Arthur had his hands up under Charles’s shirt, pressing hands against his stomach and just drinking in every emotion that erupted within him. Meanwhile Charles had managed to get his own hands on Arthur’s skin, one settling over a freshly healed knife wound on Arthur’s side, the other over an old gunshot wound. It was as if somehow Charles might be able to protect Arthur from history.

They stayed like this, occasionally kissing but mostly just exploring slowly and staring into each other's eyes for some time, up until Arthur’s leg cramped and they had to part. Silently they went about making camp - not even having to communicate as they gathered firewood and set up Arthur’s tent. Releasing the horses into the trees so they could find themselves water and grazing patches.

And then they settled together beside the fire to share a few cans of food out of Arthur’s saddlebag. They crawled into the tent having discarded all their clothes, both having the same need to be pressed as close as physically possible with no barriers, to have the most amount of flesh pressed together.

It wasn’t until the next morning that Arthur began to notice his more basal instincts taking over. The need to touch and taste. Charles was still asleep when Arthur shifted him and then straddled his thighs, leaning over to kiss him awake and then took his cock in hand as it stirred. He wasn’t even interested in his own pleasure, knocking Charles’s hand away so he could focus entirely on Charles, bringing him to completion and then settling alongside him to kiss the sweat off his collarbones.

The sun was out when he founds his own pleasure in Charles’s mouth, having been teased for what felt like hours as Charles had explored Arthur’s stomach and thighs with his lips and tongue. The next several days were spent memorising every inch, every breath, every sound and every touch they could draw from one another.  


Really, they had lost track of time. They were both in desperate need of a bath, their small amount of food reserved had grown very low and their canteens were empty when Arthur’s brain finally seemed to realise that he had been away from Dutch to long.

As soon as that name entered his mind everything came roaring back. At the forefront was Javier in that washtub telling him he was unbonded. He told the story to Charles who clung to him and comforted even though Arthur could feel the rage boiling below his skin in the same manor Arthur’s was.

Luckily he managed to distract Arthur from it, kissing over those ruined wilted flowers on his neck and taking pleasure as Arthur nipped and sucked at his own flowers on his lower back. Though they were interrupted a short time later.

“Arthur! Arthur!” The voice became steadily louder as did the the sound of horses crashing through the undergrowth as Rictus lead them in the general right direction.

“Javier, over here,” Arthur called as he climbed to his feet and tugged on a pair of trousers for the first time in days. Charles just sighed and tugged the blanket up over himself.

“Your damn horse! Its been down on the road bullying travelers for the last two days. You are lucky I got to town when I did - the Sheriff was mounting up to come out and shoot him,” Javier complained, Boz beneath him was shifting unhappily obviously having had his own encounter with the great black shire. “Ah… Hey there,” Javier offered when he realised that Arthur wasn’t alone, his wave was interrupted as he grabbed for Boz’s reins to keep him steady as Rictus brushed passed to snuffle Arthur’s clothes looking for a treat.

“Javier, this is Charles. Charles, this is my good friend Javier.”

“A pleasure,” Charles returned in his drawl that told Javier he had been interrupting but didn’t mind, though it sent a shiver dancing over Arthur’s skin and seeming to beacon Arthur back to his soulmate. And since it was Javier he didn’t even bother fighting the instinct, moving to sit on the edge of the bedroll, letting Charles lay his head in his lap while Arthur’s hand moved beneath the blanket to stroke his spine. “Join us?” he made a motion to the makeshift seating around their cold campfire.  
  
“Yeah, think I will,” Javier hummed, seeming to have gotten over his initial shock and was now just smirking at Arthur knowingly. “Think you owe me some recognition, Arthur. What did I tell you?” his gaze moved from Arthur to study Charles who didn’t even shift under the intensity of Javier’s stare.  
  
“Yeah, alright. I remember you attempting to tell me I was unbonded, mostly in Spanish. And even if I had believed you, what would I have done? Why didn’t you bring it up again?”  
  
“Well I sort of had my own problems at that point. And you were happy with us so I thought it would be easier to leave it be.” Javier couldn’t even begin to understand the anger that radiated from Charles, obviously knowing this part of Arthur’s story. “You should go, run. I can go and pack your stuff and then you can get away from this whole mess.”

“I can’t,” Arthur’s eyes dropped and he let his fingers brush though Charles’s hair, seeming to want to do nothing more then to follow the request but he was too stubborn for that. “I need to get you and your family out of this. Little Jack…”

“I appreciate the concern but John and I can manage just fine.” Arthur shot him a knowing look and then sighed.

“Hosea,” he breathed.

“What?”

“Dutch may be many things but his downfall has always been that he has a self-preservation streak a mile wide. Think about it, he never would have toyed with me this way if he could have imagined - if he felt what I was going though. He could never have tolerated feeling so desperate and alone. So… Who had been with him for as long as… Or longer then I have?”

“Hosea,” Javier groaned pressing his face into his hands.

“He has suffered more than I have. Being alone, with his soulmate so close for 20 years. Javier, I cannot walk away from this. The people… Our family that he has harmed over the years. I can’t let that go, this is something I need to fix.”

“Alright, so what are we going to do?” Javier questioned, sitting straighter and looking just as intense as he usually did when listening to one of Dutch’s more dangerous plans.

“I don’t know yet. I suppose we should go back though… Before Dutch realises something's amiss.”

“Should I go, leave you two to your goodbyes?” Javier questioned already climbing to his feet.

“No. Stay,” Arthur states though he only had eyes for Charles. “If you go I’ll never drag myself away.”

“Should I come then?” Charles questions, shifting to sit, carefully keeping the blanket around himself.

“I don’t want you anywhere near this part of my life,” Arthur admits truthfully, lifting his hands to frame Charles’s cheeks and drags him into a desperate kiss.

“Then I will be close by,” he promises, words mumbled against Arthur’s lips.

“Ah… How long before I should intervene?” Javier questions and Arthur had no idea how long he and Charles have been lost in one another. He moves from the desperate kisses to feather light ones pressed all over Charles’s face making the other man huff and give Arthur’s hair a tug.

“Go on then. Before I change my mind and keep you forever. Javier, you keep him safe,” the possessive growl almost has him falling back into Charles’s arms but instead he moves to drag on his clothes.

“I’ll do my best but this is Arthur. To me he has always had one foot in an open grave, only held above ground by a few of us he can’t bare to part with. I cannot even begin to imagine him with something to fight for,” Javier offers, tugging off his own bandana and gently tying it around Arthur’s throat knowing the other wouldn’t be able to bring himself to cover what was essentially now Charles’s mark, his claim.

It was hard, of course it was but Arthur steeled himself and mounted up, leading the way. But the anticipation hurt more than the actual parting. Once Charles was out of his line of sight his breath became a little more easy. And then Rictus started bullying Boz dragging Arthur’s attention away from his shifting emotions.  


“Where have you been?” usually it would be Dutch that came marching over but this time it was Hosea.

“Making friends with the Sheriff, weren't we Morgan,” Javier grins, as they dismount and hitch their horses.

“Yeah well, idiots shouldn’t harass me while I’m drinking,” Arthur grumbled trying to sidestep around Hosea but the man had always known him far to well and before Arthur could react there was a hand sneaking up beneath the bandanna and probing fingers pressing against his mark. His knees went weak and his breath left him in a rush. It was only Javier grabbing him by the back of his vest that kept him upright.

“Had a rough time of it then, did you?” Hosea questioned, his statement pulling tight as he took a step back. “If you found them, why the hell are you back here?” their conversation when from loud and amused to soft and secretive in a second and Arthur sighed, reaching out to set a hand on Hosea’s shoulder.

“After all that he has done, how could I? What if he finds some other poor broken kid to take advantage of, what about our family? This has to end.”

“This only ends with him dead, Arthur. And you know I can’t allow that,” Hosea’s whole form deflated and Arthur led him gently to the closest seat, letting him sink heavily onto it. “You can’t.”

“I wouldn’t,” Arthur promised easily though it caused Javier to shift uncomfortably where he was standing close.

“Oh Arthur, you’ve made it back then. Come along,” and just like the obedient mutt he’d been trained to be Arthur’s body automatically moved to follow Dutch’s instructions. “Where was he then, the saloon?”

“Jailhouse,” Javier stated and Dutch slapped Arthur on the back.

“Well, at least you would have had a day or two to sober up then. Come and meet our newest recruit. Micah Bell.”

Before he even took the man’s hand he was already gritting his teeth. Something was definitely off about him but Dutch didn’t seem to notice, clapping Micah on the shoulder.

“What’ca got going on up here, Cowboy?” Micah questioned, motioning and Arthur lifted his hand to the bandana then nudged Dutch softly.

“May as well show him yours, mine is almost unrecognisable at this point,” Arthur mumbled, and took as deep breath as Dutch actually followed the instructions, carefully rolling the sleeve of his shirt to reveal the flowers. Now, looking at them Arthur could see the subtle little differences - see that they were nowhere near as beautiful as Charles’s flowers.

“He is mine,” Dutch offered to Micah and Arthur gently took Dutch by the wrist. He couldn’t bring himself to press a kiss to the mark itself but he did kiss Dutch’s palm and was entirely surprised the Dutch let the hand cup Arthur’s cheek, looking at him fondly.

“Anyway, what did you need me for?” Arthur hummed, it was easy enough to sink into the touch, drawing on all the hope and desperation that he felt whenever he tried to gain affection from Dutch before, letting his eyes slip shut as he leant against his hand and shuddered a little as fingers brushed though the hair on the back of his neck before Dutch pulled away.

“Micah has a lead, would feel safer knowing you were along for his first score. Let me know how it goes. Take Bill if you need a third…”

And of course the whole thing becomes a quick massacre with those two egging each other on. But despite Arthur’s protests Dutch still praised them when they came back to camp with several gold bars.

Whatever was broken inside Dutch was something that seemed to be fanned by Micah. They’d spend hours talking together in Dutch’s tent. It was very quickly clear that Arthur had been ousted as the favourite.

But it didn’t matter that much to him. He spent most of his time trying to work out when it had been long enough for him to ride out and meet Charles. He ended up relying pretty heavily on John, Javier and Abigail for that information and distracted himself in between by spending most of his time with them and Jack.

He was getting big enough to be some fun now, starting to read under Hosea’s careful guidance, becoming more interested in the camp chores he was allowed to do and had started coming up with some truly interesting games that would keep all four of them on their toes.  
  


Arthur was leaning against the side of the chicken coop, carefully trying to work out how many of Jack’s tiny little handfuls would make up one normal sized handful of chook feed when John came wandering over.

“You can go again. Been a few days and nothing real interesting is going on,” John hummed, moving in to rescue Jack from the hoard of chickens that had moved in quickly to start pecking at his feet where most of the food had ended up.

“Yeah? You… Ah. You wanna come meet him. Won’t be weird us riding out together,” he offered, moving to feed the chickens himself while Jack was sat safely on John’s shoulders.

“Really? He knows about me?”

“Course he does. You are my brother, pretty sure I complain about you the most,” Arthur offered and John gave him an unimpressed look.

“Only good things I hope…”

“Yeah, course. Can’t swim, can’t hunt, can’t fish…”

“I can fish. Javier taught me.”

“John. I know that when you and Javier go fishing, no fishing gets done,” Arthur chuckled setting aside the pail and heading back toward his tent. “You coming or not?”

“Of course. I got a lead up North so I can use that as cover.”

He watched the terribly sweet goodbye John shared with both Abigail and Javier before they mounted up and road out. And Charles was exactly where he said he’d be, camped out near a lake close to Emerald Ranch surrounded by pelts and carcasses he’d spent his days hunting and curing.

“Been busy, hu?” Arthur questioned as he carefully set Rictus away from where Taima was grazing while Old Boy was released beside her.

“I have to find something to do while you are off being the big hero,” Charles purred, whipping his hands on the thighs of his trousers and then offered one for John to shake. “And you must be John Marston.”

“What gave it away? How handsome I am, the skull or the half eaten face?” John teased shaking Charles’s hand enthusiastically then was happily lead into the camp by the affectionate hand in the middle of his back.

“Probably the sarcasm,” Arthur offered, pulling the lid off the pot hung over the campfire. “You try this and you will never be able to enjoy Person’s stew again,” Arthur warned.

“Your soulmate got all the cooking skills hu? You tried Arthur’s…”

“I have watched Arthur burn meat if that is what you were going to ask me,” Charles grinned moving closer and John got up to politely examine the pelts giving Charles and Arthur a few moments of peace.

So Charles settled himself onto Arthur’s thighs, looped arms around his shoulders and kissed him gently. ”My cooking isn’t that bad,” Arthur pouted, slipping hands up under Charles’s shirt.

“I wouldn’t call what you do cooking, my love,” Charles grinned back, knocking off Arthur’s hat to kiss him properly. He then shifted to settle on the ground between Arthur’s legs once they parted.

“Though if John truly is your brother I doubt his skills are any better.”

“He knows how to make coffee very well.”

“Only because Abigail would eat me if I didn’t bring her a cup in the morning.”

“It must be interesting having two partners…”

“Not that bad actually. Javier doesn’t seem to have a jealous bone in his body so once Abigail could reassure herself of her place in the relationship it all works reasonably well. And they both love Jack. So does Arthur really. Think the kid is the luckiest out of all of us to have ended up with four parents.” Charles lifted his hand to stroke Arthur’s stubbled cheek affectionately.

“Is that right?”

“He’s a good kid. It’s a hard life to be brought up in. The more we can protect him from it, the better. He might even turn out half decent if we can work out a plan and get them away from Dutch.”

“Hey, ah. Charles? Can I buy that bear skin off you?” John questioned, glancing toward them.

“No, you can’t buy it. You can have it though.”

“Then I’ll just have to find some way to make it up to you. Can start by taking my leave,” John hummed, tipping his hat.

“Don’t you even think about it. Spend the night, we’ll head off in the morning.”

“What, no…”

“I miss riding out with you. Been a bit preoccupied recently…” Arthur offered scratching at the back of his neck and John scoffed.

“You are allowed to be! You of all the people on this damn Earth are allowed to forget about everything else and actually focus on what makes you happy. I mean for whatever stupid reason you are still here, watching over us instead of off buying some cottage in the woods and living your happy ever after,” John stated, breathing a little hard from the outburst, eyes flickering between the both of them.

“Yeah? Then who would be watching out for you and Javier?”

“Arthur. I didn’t say I wasn’t grateful. I just… I don’t understand why you are sticking around. I’ll always owe you for everything you have done. You gave me Abigail, then Jack and then to top it all off you brought Javier to me and I am sorry that I didn’t return that.”

“You kept me breathing all these long years. You owe me nothing, kept me alive long enough to find Charles.” Arthur’s arms looped around Charles’s neck, hands dipping beneath the low collar of his shirt to settle across his chest and feel the heartbeat against his palm.

“If you are worried Arthur and I won’t have enough time together then perhaps I could come with you. It has been a long time since I have been with a gang, would be nice to feel useful for once,” Charles offered quietly, leaning back against Arthur.

“Don’t think I can say no to that,” John admitted, looking to Arthur for a complaint.

“Not sure I can either.”

They share dinner and then Arthur is leaning against the log alongside the fire carefully rolling several pelts as carefully as he possibly can while he watched John and Charles chat about everything and nothing while disassembling the drying frames and Arthur understands for the first time why everyone keeps telling him to leave.

Truly he could imagine packing the pair onto their horses and taking them away to where the world could never hurt them against. He would if only it wasn’t for the three bodies missing from this perfect image - Javier with his guitar settled by the fire quietly serenading them, Abigail sitting at his side with little Jack settled in her lap while he either talks a mile a minute or falls asleep with his head settled against her chest.

And then the idea of Hosea on the log beside him and then because his brain seems to hate him, Dutch with his seat across the fire watching over all of them with that loving, proud expression he may have once held or perhaps it had always been Arthur’s imagination.

“Arthur? You alright there?” John questions and Arthur lifts his hands to scrub at his face and cleared his throat.

“Yeah, fine. Just thinking,” he offered with a half hearted smile that Charles easily returned while John just watched him with a careful expression. “You got everything sorted?”

“Of course, we just need to pack these in the morning and we will sell them on our way out. Make sure that bear pelt goes on your horse, John,” Charles stated as he cleared away Arthur’s wrapped pelts and they settle close together beside the campfire to sleep.

 

They head out at first light, heading North, detouring to the trapper on their way past. Though Arthur continuously finds his eyes settling on Charles. They’ve never done this before, usually just laze around camp and indulge in each other. Of course he would never complain but it is just nice to see him sitting tall in his saddle, long hair down his back and sweat glistening on his brow.

“Think next time I’ll bring Charles and leave you behind. Never seen you so distracted before,” John teases when Rictus almost takes a bite out of Old Boy’s rump when Arthur fails to pull him up.

“Shut up,” Arthur grumbles letting Rictus barge his way past as he looked down over the town of Annasburg through the thick fog of pollution blotted out most of it. “What are we looking at?”

“Well, ran into this fella a week or so back. Told me that this months payroll was coming through on the train. The door will be open and guarded while they move it out. We make a bit of noise and one of us ducks in and grabs a bag or two, should keep us going for a while.”

“Think that will work?”

“I know it will.” And it does. John gets himself into town and after the allotted time has past Arthur and Charles ride in, faces covered and guns blazing as if they are going to rob the place. And just as planned the vast majority of the guards come after them, racing down the main road and the splitting off into the trees.

And that is where things seem to go wrong. They can’t shake their tail. They double back far too close to where they are meant to meet John for Arthur’s comfort and after almost an hour it turns into a gunfight when Rictus stumbles and Arthur topples over his neck.

It ends with more blood then Arthur had wanted. More blood than Arthur wanted Charles involved with but the man is more than capable. He has this beautiful, wild sheen to his eyes and Arthur falls for him all over again.

They lead the horses away from the slaughter down to the river so that Arthur can soak Rictus’s leg to prevent any swelling but it's more of an excuse to spend a little time alone with Charles before they return to John.

When they return to Charles’s campsite he receives his share despite his protests and they head back to camp with the two large bags of payroll John had managed to retrieve. Arthur’s heart still flutters with the way Dutch praises them.

“I ain’t never seen you like this,” John hums when he settles down beside Javier later on that night to share dinner.

“I’ve never felt like this,” Arthur admits quietly to the pair of them, humming quietly as Javier leans into his side.

“Its nice,” he admits, taking the cigarette Arthur offers.  


 

And yet, Arthur has always been unlucky. He should never have let his guard down because his whole world comes crashing down around his shoulders only a week later.

Dutch has gathered them and Arthur finds himself riding out with John, Javier, Bill and Micah. The ride out is silent aside from their hoof beats. And Arthur couldn’t help but notice the tension in Dutch’s shoulders and spine.

“He knows,” John whispers when Rictus makes a lunge at Old Boy, and Arthur can see Javier flinch from the corner of his eye. Of course it had gotten back to Dutch, how could he have been so stupid. Two rode out but three of them were obviously at Annasburg. His heart pounded in his chest and it took everything he had to keep Rictus following behind The Count instead of turning and going after Charles.

And then there was no more time to think. That taste of cash had only fueled Dutch’s hunger and they were boarding the train to go after army payroll. John and Javier at his side. And then he was alone. John falling from the train after taking a bullet to the side and Javier going after him.

Dutch had turned in his saddle to look back and only shake his head. “Hurry up,” he yelled to Arthur and he seemed to go into autopilot, simply following instructions. The bags were tossed to Bill and Micah and then it was only Dutch’s hand on his arm that stopped him hitting the ground. “I am sorry about your friends,” Dutch offered though all sincerity was gone from his voice, along with any warmth he’d ever had for the three of them.

Micah had disappeared and so the three of them rode back to camp in silence mirroring the trip here. Boz followed along behind Rictus, nickering uncertinally as he was given no direction but even Rictus seemed to take pity and didn’t attempt to bully him.

  


The camp seemed abandoned when they rode back in. The tents empty and the fires dying. Everyone was gone, Abigail and Jack’s disappearance leaving the once sunny home dull and unwelcoming. Unrecognisable horses were hitched and it was only Dutch’s tent that stood stark and whole in the centre of what almost appeared to be a warzone of upturned tents and forgotten goods.

“I am sorry Arthur,” Dutch offered, sounding tired as he dismounted from The Count behind him.

“What have you done Dutch?” Arthur questioned, glancing back toward the man and then turning his attention to the tent as the flaps fluttered open. Charles was dragged out by a tight grip on his hair, Micah’s gun pressed against his temple.

“I had no choice. I thought you understood what I was doing for you, Arthur. But then I found out that you’ve been lying to me…”

“What are you talking about?” Arthur demanded, slipping off Rictus but the second he took a step toward Charles the hammer of Micah’s revolver clicked off loudly in warning. “Explain… Explain this to me,” it came out as begging, his head turning toward Dutch but completely unable to take his eyes off his soulmate as Micah forced him to his knees in the mud.

“I have always known that people don’t need their soulmates. It is clear enough in people that never meet theirs so why is it so different for people who do? This bond that everyone fawns over, it is our weakness. I have tried to protect you from that so you wouldn’t have to go through what I went through with Hosea but I failed. You have suffered anyway.”

Arthur’s head was spinning. Soulmate bonds were a sign of strength, alone people survived but together they truly lived and became better people. None of it made sense.

“But Micah… Micah here is living proof that we don’t need soulmate bonds, that we don’t need others. He doesn’t even have a mark,” the manic glint in Dutch’s eyes only grew with this statement.

“Alright. But I do have a mark and it belongs to Charles. I am grateful for everything you’ve tried to do but you need to let him go,” he kept his tone even, taking a slow step forward which was interrupted by Hosea stumbling out of the tree line, bruised and bloodied.

“Let them go, Dutch,” Hosea’s commanding voice had everyone looking over at him as he levelled a gun with Dutch’s chest. The only effect this had was to cause a nasty laugh to break from Dutch as he stepped toward him, as if daring him to pull the trigger.

“You can’t kill me,” he drawled tauntingly and Hosea chuckled back.

“No, I can’t. I can, however, prove to you that you need me as much as I have needed you. I’ve always been the most important part of you, if you are so sure you can survive without me then do it.”

The two guns went off in the same moment. Micah had lifted his aim to try and shoot then gun from Hosea’s hand while Hosea pressed his beneath his own chin. The first bullet ripped though Hosea’s collarbone while the second went whistling out the top of Hosea’s head.

The roar that ripped from Dutch’s throat was absolutely inhuman, he went to his knees clutching at the top of his own head as if attempting to hold himself together.

In the chaos Charles had elbowed Micah in the stomach and launched himself at Arthur, dragging him low as two of Micah’s companions exited the tent and took aim at them. They ended up behind the remains of a burned wagon, Arthur clinging to Charles’s shirt while he stared out across camp. His eyes shifted from Hosea’s body to where Dutch was openly weeping – never having realised that such intense pain and sorrow was possible in the man and despite everything he felt sympathy.

In all his years he had never watched anyone mourn a broken soul bond. He’d sure killed enough men to have severed them and he’d seen the aftermath but nothing like this.

“Arthur,” his attention was finally drawn up again away from the pair, one look at Charles found him instead watching John hurrying back into the trees away from them. “We need to go, this will have drawn attention.”

“But… Dutch.”

“Isn’t your problem. Come with me,” his calloused fingers slipped over Arthur’s soulmark and he seemed to fall back into himself, withdrawing his gun from its holster and taking aim at the unknown men.

“Go on then. I’m right behind you,” Charles shot him a look that Arthur could completely understand, especially as he turned his attention back to where Micah had regained his breath and moved to take Dutch by the shoulder. “Go.”

Bill came thundering back into the clearing, “Pinkertons Dutch. We need to get gone.”

Arthur shifted, lifting himself into a crouch which caught Dutch’s attention. Micah’s gun was ripped from its holster and levelled with Arthur’s head as he tried to shift back into the trees. “This is your fault,” Dutch snarled, the gun trembling in his hand.

“Whatever is going on in your head Dutch, its miss directed. Everything was fine until he showed up,” Arthur was paused and didn’t dare make another movement aside from a gentle gesture toward Micah. He had seen Dutch angry, had endured that wrath a few times because of his own actions and on behalf of others but the pure rage that resided there now was something different.

“No, he’s wrong. Everything was fine until Arthur went and got himself bonded. He was yours,” the ‘was’ was heavily pressed while Micah hauled Dutch to his feet.

“He is right. This is your fault,” it was such a simple statement punctuated with another gunshot that was drowned out by the horses and boots storming into the clearing.

  


Further out Charles shoved John up onto Rictus’s back, taking his own place on Old Boy behind a pale and sickly looking Javier.

“How long do we wait?” Javier asked quietly as the three of them stared into the tree line.

“He’ll be fine, he always is.”

“You didn’t see the way he looked…” Charles mumbled glancing toward John.

“Yeah, but I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He will come back to you. We need to find Abigail and Jack.” John started off, Rictus unsteady beneath John and despite his side he managed to keep himself atop the great horse. Charles was slow to follow, eyes lingering and then only Old Boy following John actually got them moving.

They met up with Abigail at the safehouse that John had picked out weeks before, her steadily pacing along the grass in front of the dilapidated looking cottage while Jack was seated unhappily on the top step.

It was a long reunion and Charles was introduced to Abigail and Jack. But Charles’s attention was elsewhere.

“I’m going after him,” Charles stated once they had moved their party inside and gotten comfortable.

“Not alone. Give it a day or two, I’ll be right to ride and everything will have cooled down a little, give him time to catch up with us,” Javier stated from his small nest of bedrolls and blankets on the floor.

“He said he’d follow you, right?” Abigail hummed from where she was tending to the nasty head wound he’d gained following John off the train.

“Yeah.”

“Then he will be here. Give him time.”

“Think he went back for Hosea?” John questioned, and the others bowed their head with Charles sinking into one of the chairs.

“I wouldn’t put it past him. Just so long as he didn’t go back for Dutch…”

Charles only got more frustrated when the rain set in that night, leaking through the roofing and running down the walls. Washing away any tracks of Arthur or Dutch that he would have been able to follow. When it didn’t irritate the other he paced, when he couldn’t pace he seated himself at one of the cracked windows and watched every small movement outside.

And then a horse rounded the corner, Arthur sitting tall in the saddle as he road in just after dusk the next day.

“You useless man,” was Abigail’s statement as she flung the door open. Of course that earned a terribly sheepish look from Arthur as he ducked his head to come inside. He moved toward Charles but Abigail began fussing. “You boys, I swear,” she was muttering as he shoved off his coat to examine the bullet wound though the top of his arm.

“What happened?” John questioned.

“You said you were following…” Charles mumbled meeting Arthur’s gaze.

“I was. Just a step to slow. Dutch got me right as the Pinkertons came flooding in. I tried to follow him and Micah but we got separated and then it was just a matter of not leading them back here to you.”

“Dutch doesn’t matter, he won’t survive losing Hosea…” Javier mumbled from the floor and Arthur shifted looking a little uncomfortable.

“Yeah, your right. Either way. Wasn’t much point getting away if we couldn’t go anywhere. Went back to find Dutch’s stash. Not as much as I thought but should be enough for us to get ourselves comfortable.

“You mean this is over,” John questioned, shifting Jack in his lap.

“What do you know about farming, Marston?” Arthur smirked, shifting around Abigail as she moved to find a bandage so that he could step into Charles’s arms, pulling him into a desperate kiss.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

“He’ll be home today,” John told Abigail as they sat down to breakfast one morning, Jack glancing up from his latest book.

“I’ll head into town and get something nice for dinner then,” Abigail offered and John reached over to take her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

“Thank you,” he breathed as her hand cupped his cheek. All these years later and it still amazed him how easily Javier fit into their little family. He’d helped John buy and set up Bechers Hope once Abigail had gotten tired of moving, helped him build a home for her and his son. He’d even lived with them for several months but eventually he’d needed to get out, go back to moving and took up bounty hunting. It had hurt, being so far apart, but they both knew it was better this way.

“How long will he stay this time?” Jack asked curiously and John let his moment with Abigail pass to focus on Jack.

“Why, are you going to bug him some more about teaching you Spanish? You are picking it up quick enough with all those books you’ve been reading,” John stated, returning his attention to his meal.

“He is going to be real proud of the progress you’ve made,” Abigail promised, “would you mind accompanying me into town today, so long as your father doesn’t need you?”

“No. You two go have some fun. I’ll let you get away with not mucking out the barn, just this once,” John teased, enjoying the smile that broke out across Jack’s face.  
  


The table was set, and they were seated in the living room when they finally heard hoofbeats outside. John rose but Jack beat him to the door.

“You will never guess who I ran into,” Javier called as he hitched his horse and then mounted the stairs to scuffle Jack’s hair and grin wildly at where John had looped his arm around Abigail’s waist.

“Ran into as in we were coming to check that Marston hadn’t gotten himself into trouble or Abigail hadn’t poisoned you all,” Arthur called as the pair of horses rounded the house. Arthur dismounted just in time to catch an armful of Jack – maybe he was getting old, maybe Jack had gotten bigger, more likely some mixture of both.

“Us? We are more worried about you in that remote little cabin of yours. Get eaten by a hog or more likely a lion knowing you,” John teased back coming down the steps to wrap Arthur in a hug, following it up with one for Charles.  
  


“And you are happy?” John asked later after they’d eaten and had settled around the fire outside to watch the stars - just enjoying each other’s company.

“More than I ever thought possible. Not just because of him, watching you grow up I always worried you’d just follow the same path I did. Nothing makes me happier than seeing you with them, your wonderful son growing well and getting to enjoy all this. You did good.”

“So did you. I’m glad you made it,” he lent into Arthur’s side, sharing a bottle of whisky and glanced around at their beautiful family.

“So am I,” Arthur offered quietly.

**Author's Note:**

> I would love to thank the inspiration and beta for this fic, AdNuminousNot. 
> 
> And the absolutely wonderful katherinestockinglopez / nothingrhymeswithkatherine for their utterly perfect artwork.
> 
> Thank you both so much for your had work and dedication. And thank everyone else for reading!
> 
> Art link: https://nothingrhymeswithkatherine.tumblr.com/image/185027811559


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